The Eyes Have It
by FraidyCat
Summary: Villians invade FBI headquarters, and someone we know is caught in the crossfire. Charliecentric cause he rules. Part 1 of Eye series.
1. Chapter 1

Title: The Eyes Have It 

**Author: FraidyCat**

**Genre: Drama, Angst**

**Time line: Right About Now**

**Summary: Villains invade FBI headquarters — and someone we know is caught in the crossfire. (Charlie-centric, because he rules.)**

**Disclaimer: Don't own 'em – but wanna cuddle 'em.**

**Chapter 1**

Don sat at his desk with a satisfied sigh. "Thanks for lunch, Charlie."

His brother smiled. "You're welcome. You're coming by the house for your birthday dinner, right?"

Don made a face. "Unfortunately."

"Dad will be happy to hear of your enthusiasm."

Don grinned. "Come on, you know what I mean. It's my 38th birthday, and I'm still having celebratory dinners with my Dad and my brother."

Charlie raised an eyebrow. "You could always change that."

Don reached for the ringing telephone. "Just because you had dinner with Amita on your birthday this year, you think you're the expert. Eppes." He looked up at Charlie. "Sure, I can do better than that. He's here right now. I'll send him down." Don replaced the receiver, reached for the coffee he had picked up on the way back from lunch. "Charlie, you got time to run by digital forensics before you leave? There's a temp working there, and she can't find the log-in for that cross-reference DNA application you designed for them last month. Can you just get her in with your password?"

Charlie looked at his watch. "Of course, I'll stop on my way out. I'm sure she wouldn't be working there without proper clearance?"

Don rolled his eyes. "Just check her ID badge, if you're worried about it. One senior tech is on vacation, another had an emergency appy yesterday, and they're remodeling and moving in pieces to a bigger section of the building. Give her a break."

Charlie looked thoughtful for a moment. "You know, I could give you the password, and _you_ could go down and give her a break…"

Don indicated a stack of files on his desk. "Like you said, it's on your way out. You know where they're hanging, until remodeling is done, right?"

"I'm not sure. I really think you should do it."

Don laughed in spite of himself. "Knock it off, Charlie. Consider it field work, and report back to me if you have to. Ground floor, next to Central Booking."

Charlie shrugged. "All right, all right. I guess I should at least meet her before I try to hook you up with her." He turned for the elevator. "Don't be late for dinner. Dad's probably baking a cake right now."

Don picked up the first file. "Get outta here, Charlie."

When the elevator doors opened, Megan stood to one side to let him in. "I'm going back down," she said. "Just got a call on my cell. Central booking wants to see me."

"That's exactly where I'm going. Almost." Charlie entered the elevator and pushed the button for the ground floor. "Do you know anything about the temp working in digital forensics? Is she single?"

"Charlie!" Megan was surprised. "You're giving up on Amita?"

His smile faltered. "Actually, the probability factor there is not too high, so maybe." He changed the subject. "But this is field work. For Don."

The doors opened and Megan led them out. "Oh, no, I'm not getting involved in _that_, Charlie. You're on your own."

Charlie laughed. "See you tonight at Don's dinner?"

"Wouldn't miss it. Thanks for inviting me."

Megan turned out of the hallway before Charlie, offering him a wave as he continued on. Moments later, she heard an explosion of gunfire, and she whirled to see armed and masked men entering from every conceivable direction. She wondered vaguely how they got in emergency exit doors supposedly locked from the outside, even as she saw security personnel in the lobby go down, one-by-one, reminding her of dominoes. She unholstered her weapon and crouched behind the nearest desk, sighted on a perp running past her and fired.

Watching him drop, Megan couldn't distinguish all the shots, anymore. Some were coming from other agents, she recognized the sound of the service weapon. Semi-automatic rounds from the assailants peppered her ears. Even over the gunfire, she could still hear the voices of people shouting. She could smell the smoke in the air, raised her head slightly over the desk.

The floor was littered with bodies. Civilians, agency personnel, at least four of the gunmen.

She could hear gunfire coming from farther down the hall. She heard the "Code Black" siren sound throughout the building as she crawled to another desk closer to the door, trying to follow the sound.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Charlie smiled at the temp in digital forensics. He wasn't very experienced at this. He wished ID badges included marital status. "I'm Charlie Eppes," he started, but the tech's eyes widened and focused on something behind him. She screamed, and Charlie heard the unmistakeable sound of gunfire echoing all around him. He turned, confused, thinking he should get back to Megan.

When the round ripped into his thigh, he didn't even feel it.

He just wondered why he was going down, what force had blown him up against the filing cabinets. When he slid into a sitting position on the floor, legs stretched out in front of him, he saw it all at once.

The shooter turning and running back the way he had come.

The burnt hole in his jeans, the blood bubbling through the hole.

The eyes of the dead woman whose outstretched arm he had landed on.

Open, and staring at him.

A third eye between them, that shouldn't be there.

Blood running out of her mouth, her nose, her ears.

Green eyes.

He found his own brown ones locked with them. His hand shakily reached out to touch her neck, to check for the pulse he knew wasn't there.

Charlie couldn't stop looking at her, into those eyes.

"K," he whispered, his hand still on her neck, "KE equals MV squared."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Before Megan reached the hall again, she saw agents pouring in from all levels of the building. Bursting out of stairwells, riot shields up, was the first line. She heard moaning at her feet and noticed for the first time that she wasn't hearing gunfire anymore. She looked down and found a terrified clerk staring back up at her. His hand was pressing into his side, and she could see blood seeping through the fingers. "Are you hit anywhere else?"

He shook his head, moaned again.

"Keep pressure on that. I see help." As she whispered, Megan heard the first sirens drawing nearer the building. "I hear help. We'll get you out of here soon." As she looked over the desk, she heard someone shout.

"CENTRAL BOOKING ALL CLEAR. REPEAT, ALL CLEAR. EMTs…" The voice, trained beyond even her own experience, broke, and for the first time Megan felt fear. "EMTs TO CENTRAL BOOKING."

Megan stood and ran to the first aid kit on the wall, seeing the second wave of agents come out of the stairwell, some coming toward the room she was in, some following the riot shields into the hallways and offices to secure the entire floor. She quickly opened the major injury kit, put on a pair of gloves and grabbed a compression bandage. Then she raced back to the terrified clerk.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Colby waited in the hallway outside digital forensics until the first line retreated from the room.

"Digital forensics clear," one said into his lapel. He looked at Colby. "We've got vics in there, no shooters."

Colby looked over his shoulder at David, who nodded. "Got it," Colby said, and holstered his weapon. It looked like the assault was over, and first aid was quickly becoming a priority. He entered the room while David continued down the hall providing back-up to the first line. He could see part of a female body, and another set of legs, on the other side of the filing cabinets. He stopped briefly at the major injury kit near the door for gloves, and was still putting them on when he rounded the filing cabinets.

When he first saw Charlie, it almost didn't register. He saw fingers on the woman's neck, barked, "you got a pulse?". When he didn't get an answer he looked fully at the man sitting against the cabinet and took in a shocked breath. "Charlie!" Colby quickly replaced Charlie's fingers with his own, determined that the woman was beyond his help. He surveyed what he could see of Charlie's body, and began to apply pressure to the bleeding thigh with his gloved hands, not bothering to go back to the first aid kit. He turned his head slightly toward the door. "MEDIC! WE NEED A MEDIC IN HERE! DIGITAL FORENSICS — MEDIC!"

He kept pressure on the wound and turned his head back toward Charlie, who hadn't stopped looking at the woman since he'd found them. "Charlie! Charlie, look at me!"

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Charlie hadn't noticed the riot shield, hadn't heard Colby speak to him, didn't take his eyes off the woman until there was an unbelievable, indescribable burning in his leg. He tried to jerk it away from whatever fire he must have fallen into, but something was holding him down. He finally turned away from the woman's eyes, although his hand crept back to its position on her neck. He saw Colby.

"Stop," he said. "Why are you doing that?"

Colby searched Charlie's face. "Are you with me, now, Charlie? Just hang in there, okay?"

Charlie's head slumped back against the filing cabinet. He closed his own eyes to make the other ones go away. He couldn't think. Maybe Colby would stop hurting him if he found the right answer.

"KE equals MV squared," he said. "Is that what you want? I can't remember."

Colby swore. "Come on, Charlie…"

Charlie groaned. He didn't understand what was wrong with his leg, why Colby was hurting him, but he had to make it stop. He opened his eyes again to look at Colby. He swallowed. "The…the kinetic energy," he started, hoping this was what Colby wanted, "energy transferred…" He was getting dizzy, now. Maybe he should close his eyes again.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Megan looked up to see Don enter the room, gun still drawn, and take in the carnage. He spotted her, came her way. "You all right?"

"Yes, yes, where are the EMTs?"

As if in answer, the first team arrived. At the doorway they momentarily froze, confronted with several victims at once.

Another agent, this one from the bureau medical office, pushed past them. "I'll triage," she offered, and began to make rounds of the room before they responded. "Upper right quadrant here, massive blood loss. He hasn't received any first aid. Better start here." The first team took their gear to the victim indicated.

"I need able-bodied personnel administering first aid," directed the agent, and Don moved forward. "Extremity wound over here. Glove up and grab something to put pressure on it!"

Don did as he was told. There was a low murmur in the room now, a mixture of moans, whispers, someone was crying. Megan was relieved of her vic when another paramedic team arrived, and she changed her gloves to look for someone else to help. Back near the door, she heard Colby's call for a medic, looked at the agent triaging the room.

"We need at least four more teams in here," she said. "I can't send any down there."

"I'll see how serious it is," Megan offered, and the agent nodded, went back to her assessment of Central Booking. It took Megan a second to process exactly where she'd heard Colby's voice coming from, and when she did, she felt a cold fear clutch her heart. Digital forensics? Wasn't that where Charlie was going? She looked toward Don, but he was talking to his vic and didn't seem to have heard Colby's voice above all the others. Megan ran down the hallway.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Colby was getting hoarse, already. He turned his head back toward the door, screamed 'MEDIC!" again, just as Megan careened around the doorway.

"Oh my G-d." She dropped to the floor beside him. "Charlie!"

"He's shocky," said Colby, "he's talking math."

Megan took the pale face in her gloved hands. "Charlie!", she said again, and he opened his eyes.

_He was so happy to see Megan. She would explain everything. "Why is he doing that?" His own voice sounded strange, to him. He didn't like Megan's eyes, either. A lighter green than those other eyes, but scared instead of vacant. This equation must be important. "Transferred," he breathed, willing her to understand. "Energy transferred to…to the target…" It wasn't working, her eyes were still scared. He wanted to touch her, but he had to leave his hand where it was. Vacant eyes were counting on him…and the other hand…did he have another hand? "Defined as mass…". His eyes slipped shut again, and he tried once more to pull his leg away from the fire, moaned. "Multiply," he said, more loudly, trying to talk louder than the pain. "G-d, please, multiplied…". He couldn't remember where in the equation he was. He opened his eyes again. Was Megan angry? "What?", he asked her eyes, and he couldn't look at them anymore, his head swam as he tried to find the woman, the one with the other green eyes. Maybe she knew. He focused on the third eye. That was it. That was it. He tried to turn back to Megan, couldn't find the energy. He hoped she could hear him, he was whispering, although he didn't know why. "KE," he started. Could he finish this later? Just a moment. He just needed a moment_.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Megan tore herself away from Charlie, ran back to Central Booking. Several more paramedic teams were at work. Don was still with his vic, a civilian, helping him to his feet. A few other wounded were stirring, being helped up by first aid responders, as well. She looked at the triage agent.

"We've decided to transport the less seriously wounded in LAPD cars," the woman answered the unasked question. "What's down there?"

"One vic, thigh wound." Megan marveled at the calmness in her own voice. "He's shocky. Just lost consciousness."

"Take the next team." The triage agent turned away. Megan looked behind her, hoping to see another paramedic team. Nothing. She turned back to look at Don. He was almost even with her now, supporting the vic on one side while an LAPD officer supported the other.

"I'm going to ride in with this one," he said, when he saw her at the door. "Keep pressure on the wound."

She backed out of the doorway to let them through. "Don…"

He looked at her, and she didn't know what to say.

"Where do you want us?" Another paramedic team was stepping up behind her. She looked at them. "I've got a vic in…down here," she said, forcefully. "This way." She gave Don one last look. She had to let him do his job, and she had to do hers. She turned, and led the paramedics to Charlie.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Don was just about to help his vic into the back seat of the LAPD unit when he heard his name called. Turning, he saw Jimmy Preston, a newer agent, assigned to another team. He frowned. What did this newbie want?

"Agent Eppes," Jimmy was breathless when he reached the unit. "I'll…I'll get this guy. Agent Reeves saw me in the corridor and sent me out here, told me to take your vic in and send you back to her."

That might make a little sense. Don was a senior agent. He should probably stay on the scene. "Right," he said, and carefully made the transfer so that Jimmy's hands took over for his. "Where is she?"

"Digital forensics." Jimmy was climbing into the back of the car. "Don't forget to go through decon," he threw back over his shoulder.

Don ran back for the building, impatiently let the LAPD officers maintaining security at the door check his ID. Just inside, he veered to the women's restroom off the lobby. Decontamination. All the times he had been required to practice this emergency action plan, he couldn't believe how different it felt when it wasn't a drill. Designated personnel were stationed at the entrance to bag and tag the gloves he had been wearing with the injured civilian. He was allowed to enter the room, where he washed his hands, then held them out while another safety team member thoroughly drowned them in alcohol. A third person circled him while this was happening, to check for blood on his clothes. None would be allowed back in to cross-contaminate the scene. Spotting some stains, the agent had Don remove and bag his dress shirt, and gave him an FBI t-shirt to put on instead. Finally, back at the door, he was issued a fresh pair of gloves.

It all happened so fast, Don was halfway to digital forensics before his brain caught up with him, and he stopped dead in the corridor.

Digital forensics?

Where he had sent Charlie?

Charlie had ridden down in the elevator with Megan. Megan was in Central Booking during the shooting. So Charlie must have gone on, to log-in the temp tech, like Don had asked him to.

Bodies were rushing past him on both sides, and he stood still in the hallway.

"Eppes!"

Don looked up, startled, saw Director Merrick.

"Are you all right?"

The Director's solicitude did more to bring him back than the melee around him. "Merrick" and "empathetic" were not often used in the same sentence. Don started moving, again. "I'm fine, sir. I've been called to digital forensics." Merrick nodded, and continued on toward Central Booking.

He was soon running, and his feet nearly slipped out from under him when he turned into the room full-tilt. The paramedic team kneeled over someone on the floor, blocking his view, while Colby and Megan stood off to one side. Colby tore his eyes away from the floor when he heard someone enter the room, and met Don's. "Charlie's hit," he said simply, and Don's legs nearly abandoned him this time. He moved around until he could see his brother's curly head. His face was almost completely obscured by an oxygen mask. His eyes were closed. "How bad is it?"

The EMTs inserted another line into Charlie's hand — Don saw two there, already — and prepared to lift him to the stretcher. One of them spoke. "Wound isn't life threatening, although he's lost some blood. Problem is shock. We've got to get him transported."

"Try not to move the body behind you," Colby warned, and Don noticed for the first time that Charlie was partially on top of another person. A woman. The temp?

His eyes were drawn back to Charlie, who hadn't even whimpered as the needle was inserted into his hand, or as he was transferred to the stretcher.

"Where are you taking him?"

"We've been diverted to Cedars," answered an EMT. "We've got to spread these vics around, try not to overwhelm the ERs." The paramedics negotiated the doorway. One looked back at the agents. "Anyone coming?"

Don didn't want to let Charlie go alone, but he couldn't ask anyone else to leave the scene right now — even the Director was working the scene — and he couldn't have his father get a phone call. Not this phone call. He shook his head, and the EMTs pushed their cargo off. "You two get to decon," he said to Megan and Colby, not looking at them. "Check in with Merrick in Central." He finally looked at them, or more accurately, at the blood on Colby's hands. "I'm going to take my Dad to Cedars. I'll be back as soon as I can."

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Alan stepped back, admiring the cake.

He smiled. Don would be surprised. Alan had a cake from the bakery to serve at the dinner tonight, but this one was special, for Donnie to take home. He hadn't told either of his sons when, a few months ago, he had been digging around in the back of the pot cupboard and found the "birthday tins". Their mother had special ordered one for each of her sons, from some cooking catalog she had, and always made their birthday desserts in them, every year. Even the year she died, she had made them. Don's was in the shape of a baseball mitt, and over the years, Margaret had become very adept at the decorative frosting. His attempt was nowhere near her level, but Alan was just glad it was recognizable. He took a step to the side, and frowned. Mostly recognizable.

He shook his head, thinking of Charlie's birthday tin. He had only been four when Margaret wanted to get them, and even then he had requested the Pi symbol. They hadn't really understood what he was saying — he just kept saying he wanted "Pi", and so Margaret had finally settled for a deep-dish pie tin. When she served Charlie cherry pie for his next birthday, he had cried for two hours, falling asleep several times only to wake up and start crying again. After that, serving Charlie pie on his birthday became a family joke.

Alan chuckled and started for the refrigerator to turn the steaks in their marinade. He looked up, confused, when he heard the screech of tires in the driveway. Was that Don? He looked at his watch. At 2:30?

He was looking at the kitchen door when Don burst through it. In his confusion he still wanted to smile, wish his son a happy birthday, but his mind immediately registered that something was very wrong. Don was breathing hard, had run full-tilt from the SUV. Was he wearing gloves?

"We have to go," his son said, and Alan knew all that he needed to from those four words. Silently he laid the dish towel on the table, walked to the counter to pick up his keys.

He looked at Don.

"Take me to your brother."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

By the time Don got to Pasadena to pick up Alan, and the two of them fought traffic back to Cedars-Sinai, it has been almost two hours since Charlie had been taken from FBI headquarters. On the way, Don filled his father in on as much as he knew, and Alan called the hospital several times. He was disconnecting again as they finally hit hospital parking.

"We should go right to the surgical waiting room," he said, opening the door almost before Don had the SUV at a full stop. "They sent him to surgery."

Don's throat tightened and he rounded the SUV at a full gallop, grabbed his father's elbow to negotiate the halls. He had to keep forcing himself to slow down, so that he wouldn't push the older man over. All their rushing came to a dead halt when they were directed to surgical waiting, "waiting" being the operative word.

Alan and Don stood and looked at each other, neither wanting to sit.

"I still don't understand," Alan spoke quietly. "How could this happen at FBI headquarters?"

Don ran a hand through his hair. "I don't know, Dad. I should be there right now, helping figure this out."

Alan bristled. "Please. Feel free to leave. Thank you for the ride."

"G-d, Dad." Don hung his head for a moment, then looked back at Alan. "That's not what I mean. That didn't come out right."

Alan saw the look in his son's eyes. The scene he had described to Alan in the car was horrific. He couldn't imagine what it was like to live through a thing like that, to see your friends and colleagues cut down like that…then to find out your own brother was one of the victims. His own eyes softened, and he reached out to grasp the back of Don's neck, bring his head to meet his own. "I know. I'm sorry. I'm sure you're needed back there."

Don let himself feel his father's touch for a long moment, then drew back. "I'm staying here," he said firmly. "This is more important, right now." He was suddenly very tired, as adrenaline drained out of his system, and he dropped into a chair. "He took me to Orlando's."

Alan sat next to his son. "Orlando's?"

"Great little Italian place. I'd never heard of it either, but he took me there for lunch. I shouldn't have sent him down there, he could have given me the information. He _wanted_ to give me the information."

"Don." Alan's voice was low, soothing. It reminded Don of when he'd been sick, as a child. "Donnie. You did nothing to endanger Charlie. He was there because he wanted to give his brother a nice birthday lunch. You said…you said he was on the ground floor, when it happened. He would have been there on the way out of the building, anyway — like any other civilian."

"I didn't even think about him." Don's own voice was lower than Alan's. "When I heard the Code Black, understood that the building was under attack. I just hit the stairwells with all the others. When I got there, I even saw Megan in Central, and talked to her, and I still didn't make the connection. I knew he'd been in the elevator with her. What happened to my powers of observation? My understanding of the obvious?"

Alan was silent for a moment.

"I'm an educated man," he finally said. "I have my degree, my years of experience in engineering…I'm well-read."

Don looked at him, not understanding where he was going.

"But when the doctor showed us that chest x-ray," Alan continued, "my eyes refused to register what they saw. My brain would not accept the truth. For months. I made your mother…I made your mother endure experimental 'treatments' and 'cures'…" He sighed. "Donnie, sometimes our hearts get in the way of our heads."

They sat in silence for another half hour, until a man in scrubs materialized before them. "I'm Dr. Kildaire," he said, and waited for the requisite jolt to hit his listeners. "I know. You're here for Charles Eppes?"

Alan started to stand, but the doctor pulled over another chair and sat down wearily. "Long day," he mused, then noticed the ID badge Don still wore. "Incredible tragedy," he said. "So many victims."

"My brother?"

The doctor smiled. "Your brother will be fine. He was in mild hypovolemic shock by the time the paramedics reached him, from blood loss. Rapid heartbeat and breathing, cool and clammy skin…he had a fairly low blood oxygen level when he arrived. Shock is often more serious than what precipitated it, but his levels are already rising. He was intubated in the ER, and that endotracheal tube remained in place for surgery, but we're fairly certain now that we'll be able to maintain his blood oxygen level with extra oxygen alone. We'll be extubating him in a few hours, before he regains consciousness. It's very frightening to wake up intubated."

Alan looked confused. "I'm sorry," he said. "We didn't know all this. About shock." He looked at Don. "At least I didn't. I was expecting to hear about a gunshot wound."

The doctor smiled again. "The GSW looks good. The bullet was successfully removed, and wound debridement completed. We were happy to see there was no bone involvement, your son was very lucky in that regard. Doppler pressures and an angiogram confirmed that there is no vascular damage. Some antibiotics, a few weeks on crutches, then a cane, and your son should be fine."

Don wasn't buying it. Yet. "Nerve damage?"

The doctor stopped smiling. "That's always a possibility, although we really don't anticipate that in this case. Charles will be the best judge of that, as he heals." He looked again at Alan. "He's been unconscious since before we got him, so no one's been able to talk to him. But I'm sure this was very traumatic. There may be…emotional issues."

Alan nodded. "I'm sure. When can we see him?"

"He's in recovery now. Give us a few hours. We'll extubate him, and then you can see him."

Don shifted in his chair. "He's really in no danger?"

The doctor stood to leave. "None. Someone will come to get you in a few hours."

Don stood, touched the doctor's arm. "I'm…" He looked down at his father. "I'm sorry. I'm a senior agent, I need to be back at the scene. I need to see him, first." He looked at Alan again. "I'm sorry, Dad."

Alan stood and ran a hand over Don's back. "It's all right," he murmured. "He's all right. I'll stay here with him. I'll call you if anything changes."

Don handed his keys to his father. "I'll leave the car with you, I'll catch a cab back." He was looking at Dr. Kildaire again. "He's really not in any danger?"

"I can let you step into recovery for a minute, to look at him only. He's still on the ventilator, and that may encourage you to forget everything I'm saying now, but Charles is fine. He'll go home in a few days."

Alan was pressing some keys back into Don's hand as he left the room. He looked at him. "My set to Charlie's car," explained his father. "It's still down at headquarters."

Don started to nod and follow the doctor, then stopped. "Wait a second, please," he said, and he turned back and crossed the few steps to Alan. He wrapped him in his arms, felt his father's arms surround him in return. "It's gonna be okay, Dad," he whispered into Alan's ear. "It's gonna be okay."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

It was already dark, but the FBI building still blazed with light. It had been several hours since Don had seen it, and the change was remarkable. All live victims had been removed, and some dead ones, but several bodies remained while CSI teams gathered evidence. There were more LAPD officers and detectives than agents Don recognized. That made sense. They were going to need back-up on this one.

The elevators, locked down during and immediately after the incident, were back in operation, and Don rode up to his office. When the doors opened, he saw that the room still bustled with activity. Taking one step, he allowed his voice to carry over to her desk. "Agent Reeves! Conference room."

Megan glanced at Colby, then got out of her chair and followed Don. He waited until she had closed the door behind them before he looked at her.

"Tell me," he said, his voice a low growl. "Tell me what the hell you were doing."

Megan didn't so much as flinch. "My job. And one description of that job is enabling my team leader to do his. You had a civilian, Don, you were administering first aid to a civilian. I knew Colby was with Charlie, I knew I was taking EMTs to Charlie…I sent Jimmy to relieve you as soon as I saw a free agent."

Don turned abruptly away, rubbed the back of his neck with one hand as he walked to a window. Megan waited.

"Dammit," he finally said, turning back around. "I wish I could tell you that you'd done the wrong thing."

"How's Charlie?"

"They say he'll be okay, the GSW isn't life threatening, and they think they've reversed the hypo…hippo…some kind of shock."

"Hypovolemic," she nodded. "From blood loss. I was afraid of that, when I felt his face."

Don started walking back across the room. "Was he conscious?"

"Not for long after I got there. He was trying to recite some sort of equation. Colby said it was 'KE equals MV squared.' We looked it up. It has something to do with bullet velocity."

"Was that the temp tech, the woman?"

Megan nodded. "Colby said he had a hard time getting Charlie's attention away from her."

Don reached out to open the door. "Megan," he said, his hand on the knob, "you were a good agent, today. You kept your head. More than I did."

"Thank you," she said sincerely. "I want to be a good friend. Charlie will need to talk about this. If I can help…"

He smiled sadly, opened the door. "Thanks. That means a lot."

Colby and David were sneaking looks toward the conference room and were relieved to see both Don and Megan emerge more or less in one piece.

"Granger," barked Don, approaching his desk.

Colby groaned under his breath. _"Great," he thought. "I'm next."_ He looked up at Don, started to stand but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder, pushing him back down.

"Thank you," Don said. "You saved Charlie's life." Colby shrugged, at a loss for words, and Don sat on the corner of his desk. "Okay," he said, all business now. "Gather in. Tell me what the hell happened today."

David spoke first. "LAPD already cracked Melvin, in the mailroom. Weasel took some cash to unlock the emergency exit doors this morning on his rounds, that's how some of the shooters got in. The rest just blasted their way through the front."

"They were suicide shooters," Colby added. "Expected to go down in the fight. They wore the masks as part of the intimidation. CSI found cyanide tablets on them; if they weren't hit, they were going to take themselves out."

"Terrorist cell?"

"No one's claimed responsibility, yet," Megan offered. "It could be someone trying to make it look terrorist. Central Booking personnel is conducting an inventory to see if anything disappeared from the Evidence Lock-Up before the lock-down."

"We've got Melvin looking through the books," David continued, "to see if he can ID the guy who paid him."

Don frowned. "Must have been a hell of a lot of money."

Megan was looking at the floor. "Only $333.00," she said quietly. "Per victim. We had 30 people go down, not counting the shooters. We lost five civilians, six bureau personnel, 10 more of our guys were wounded, including Charlie. At least one of them is not expected to live out the night. Nine civilians were wounded. Two of them are critical. Little bastard did it for 10 Grand."

When she looked back up, Don was staring at her, eyes dark and swimming. "G-d," he whispered. "All those numbers. You sound like Charlie."

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	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

_He was dreaming of eyes._

_His father's and Don's were brown, like his, but none of them were the same shade. His father's were light, reflected the water of the koi pond when he bent over to feed the fish. Charlie giggled. It looked like the fish were swimming in his daddy's eyes._

_Don's were darker, reflected something burning inside him. Charlie stopped giggling when he looked at Donnie. Those eyes were hard, unforgiving, He didn't like them. They scared him._

_He looked instead at his mother's eyes. They were blue, beautiful, the color of the deepest part of the ocean, reflected…_

…_wait a minute…_

…_they weren't his mother's eyes, anymore, they were green, dark green, as green as the ferns around the koi pond, as green as anything he had ever seen, but they reflected nothing. They just stared at him, never blinking._

_But they were changing, again. Still green, but accusing, now. Not angry, like Don's, but hurt, somehow, as if he had done something terrible to those eyes. He whimpered a little, not understanding those eyes. Eyes that could speak. "You've done something wrong," they said, and he didn't want to believe them, but he looked at his father again, and suddenly his eyes were green too. "You shouldn't have," his daddy's eyes said, and then he frantically looked for the anger in Don, but even his new, green eyes taunted him. "Why didn't you?", they said, and Charlie cried then. He searched for his mother, her eyes would never hurt him, but he couldn't find her. He couldn't find her._

_He closed his own eyes, squeezed them as tightly shut as he could, but the green eyes would not go away._

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

"I don't know what to tell you, Mr. Eppes. He should be awake by now. Has your son ever had problems with anesthesia before?"

Alan looked desperately at the bed. "No, no, he had his tonsils out, as a child, and later — at about 20 — an appendectomy. Could the shock you told us about do this?"

Dr. Kildaire nodded. "It could be a contributing factor, but his blood oxygen level is back to normal, heart rate and breathing are good…" The doctor stepped aside while two orderlies pushed a gurney into the room. "We're going to do a CT scan, get some more information. You can wait here. I'll talk with you again when the procedure is over." The doctor turned to follow Charlie down the hall. He looked back at Alan. "Try not to worry, Mr. Eppes. He's only a few hours behind schedule right now."

Alan walked to the doorway to watch the procession until they had all turned a corner and left his sight. He rubbed the back of his neck, walked back into Charlie's room and lifted the telephone from the bedside table. He hesitated. Don was a little busy, right now. What was he going to say to him anyway, "Get over here and wake your brother up"? Maybe he should at least wait until after the CT scan, when he had more information.

He replaced the telephone and turned on the television.

"…_and in an update on yesterday's tragic shooting at the FBI offices here in Los Angeles, authorities today stated that new protocol, designed since New York's 9/11 attacks, proved very successful at securing the scene. Procedures from 'Code Black' were instituted when an employee within the area targeted was able to access the alarm, thereby alterting agents in all areas of the building to respond to the ground floor and the areas under attack. 'Code Black's' Emergency Action Plan further increased the FBI's ability to triage and transport victims, as well as maintaining a sense of order in this very overwhelming situation. The 'Code Black' alarm system is also wired into Los Angeles county's dispatch center, and LAPD officers as well as emergency medical personnel were at the FBI offices within minutes. Both the bureau and LAPD have conducted numerous drills of this protocol since its inception. Jim, it's certainly good news that this new system worked so well, yet it's so tragic that 'Code Black' ever had to be tested at all."_

"_That's correct, Diane. And during your report, I received an update on the victims of yesterday's shooting. Wanda J. Anderson, a secretary employed by the Los Angeles FBI office, has been pronounced dead. With Leland S. Stavers, the civilian who died during the night, total fatalities suffered during this assault now stands at 13…"_

Alan turned the television off, and sank down into a chair. What was happening?

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Don was exhausted. No one on the team — no one left alive at the bureau — had gone home, yet. All known and suspected terrorist contacts were being dragged in and questioned. A third inventory of the evidence locker was being completed by a third set of eyes. Around 3 a.m., an agent questioning Melvin from the Mailroom again had to be dragged off the kid, after he broke Melvin's nose and slammed him into a wall in interrogation.

The elevator doors opened and he strode into the hall. His father hadn't called him yet, but he had needed a break, needed to get out of the war zone that used to be his office. Before he really knew where he was going, he was halfway to the hospital. He kept going. The team would understand if he took a few minutes to see Charlie. Hell, he'd ask him a few questions while he was here, call it an interview.

3317. This was the room number he had been given. Opening the door, he saw his father sitting forlornly in a chair, next to…next to an empty bed.

"Where's Charlie?"

Alan whipped his head around to see Don in the doorway. "Come in, son. Sit down, You look like you're going to fall…" Alan stood, offering Don the more comfortable chair. "I just saw a news update…Don, I'm so sorry this is happening…"

Don walked into the room, but refused the chair. "Where's Charlie?", he asked again.

Alan looked away from him. Never a good sign in interrogation. "He's having a CT scan. I was going to call you after I had some results, something to tell you…"

"Why is he having a CT scan? Did something happen, did they miss something, is he complaining of something, what?"

Alan physically led Don to the chair, pushed until he sat down. He sat on the end of Charlie's empty bed. "Donnie," he began, and Don was glad he was sitting down. Alan rubbed his eyes, then looked at Don again. "They can't wake him up."

Don's body tensed. "What? He should have woken up hours ago."

"I know, I know, I keep talking to him, I keep trying…"

Don took a breath. "Is it the shock?"

"They don't think so." Alan's explanation was interrupted by the door opening, and Charlie was pushed back inside. The doctor stood behind the gurney. He saw them both and motioned for them to join him in the hall.

"Let's talk out here while they get him settled in his bed again."

Don bolted out of the chair and beat this father to the door. "What did the CT scan show?", he asked, before the door had swung all the way closed.

"It's normal," the doctor answered. "Offers no explanation as to why Charlie is taking his time, here. In fact, we noticed during the scan that he is sometimes lightening to the point of REM sleep, but even when we spoke to him during an REM session, he remained unresponsive."

"There's got to be something you can do," Alan pleaded.

Dr. Kildaire sighed. "I'm afraid this is the hardest part, Mr. Eppes. We all just have to be patient. If Charlie is still not awake by this afternoon, I've scheduled an MRI, just to gather whatever information it may offer…but…" he looked from Alan to Don. "I'm sorry. You should talk to him. Especially if you see signs of REM sleep…rapid eye movement." The door opened again and the orderlies pushed the empty gurney past them. "I'll check back soon."

Father and son watched the doctor walk away.

"You should go home, get some rest."

"There is no rest, Dad. When I leave here, I'm just going back to the office."

"Anything new?"

Don didn't even answer. "Look, you should go home and get some rest yourself. You've probably been here all night, right?"

Alan walked across the corridor, paced back again. He decided he wouldn't answer, either. "I called Larry. He doesn't have any afternoon classes today, and he's canceling his office hours. He'll be here around noon. I'll go home for a few hours then. I won't leave Charlie alone."

Don looked at the floor. Did all hospitals buy linoleum from the same place? He looked back at his father. "At least go to the cafeteria and get something to eat. I can stay until you get back." He looked at the door. 3317. "I'd like to talk to Charlie for awhile."

Alan reached into his pocket. "Did you drive Charlie's car here? We should switch back. You have important things in the SUV."

They silently made the exchange, and then Don pushed open the door to Charlie's room, walked toward the chair near the bed. He spoke quietly, but Alan still heard him. "I have something more important in here."


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: I shall endeavor to continue, although I received ABSOLUTELY NO reviews of Ch. 6, and it is difficult to write, my heart being broken and all…**

**ALSO: All names are fictional. This is fiction. This is made-up stuff. Please don't hurt me.**

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

**Chapter 7**

Don reached for the file Colby was handing to him. "I don't see any connection," the other agent said tiredly. "Maybe if you looked…"

"We're all tired, Colby. We've been here since 7 yesterday morning — going on 30 hours. My eyes are no better than yours, but I'll try. If this is the guy Melvin ID'd, then he should cross-reference with an ongoing…or at least recent…investigation."

"So you saw Charlie this morning? Maybe another eyewitness account will help. He _is_ more observant that the average animal."

Don crossed his arms, the file trapped next to his side. "I don't think we'll get much from Charlie."

Megan paused at her desk and looked over at them. "Why not?"

"He still hasn't regained consciousness. He should have awakened during the night, I thought when I went to see him…" Don looked at his watch. "…almost four hours ago, I could write the time off as a victim interview. He wasn't out of it yet, and neither my Dad or the hospital have called, so I guess he's still not."

Megan and David both stood and joined Don at Colby's desk.

"You don't need to worry about 'writing off' the time you spend with Charlie," assured David. "Everybody here understands. I'm surprised you can function here at all, especially if a problem has developed with Charlie." He snorted mildly. "Although I probably shouldn't be. Don Eppes is the only man I know who can successfully be two places at one time."

"Do they know why he's taking so long to come out of it?"

"No, Megan. They were doing a CT scan when I got there, and it was okay. I guess they're probably doing an MRI now, but…we can create humans outside the body, we can interchange our parts with each other, why can't we just wake up one math professor?"

Don was interrupted when the telephone on his desk rang. He quickly crossed the distance. "Eppes. Absolutely. I'll be right there." He replaced he receiver and looked at his team. "Merrick wants to see me."

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Alan wearily let himself in the kitchen door.

Charlie was never home at 1 in the afternoon — why did it feel so much emptier, today?

He tossed his keys on the counter and headed for the stairs. A shower, a short nap. He had told Larry he would be back by 5.

He paused when he saw movement on the table, and leaned over to take a closer look.

Don's birthday cake, the one that had seemed so important 24 hours ago…there was a steady stream of ants from the door, over the tile, up the table, into the cake.

Part of him knew that he wasn't crying over a cake that resembled a lopsided baseball mitt.

Part of him knew, as he savagely stamped at the trail on the floor, and opened the kitchen door again so that he could throw the cake away, part of him knew he probably shouldn't be swearing.

He tried to control his breathing, as he sprayed a bleach solution on the trail, and watched ants die in their disgusting little tracks.

He wasn't sure anymore if he was sobbing or hiccupping, as he used an entire roll of paper towels, on the table, and the floor.

He wasn't sure anymore of anything.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

When Don reached the Director's office, he was granted immediate admittance, and surprised to see several other senior agents there already. He took a seat, and they all waited in silence, until one more showed up. The Director stood.

"Homeland Security and the NSA will be taking over the investigation of yesterday's shooting," he began, raising his hands at the murmurs. "We received this half an hour ago." He flipped on a projector, and they all looked at the screen set up against one wall.

"_American infidels must learn that there is no haven for them. The corruptness of those intended to protect them leads to their own destruction. This exercise has been a demonstration. We used restraint in our efforts, as we easily could have duplicated or exceeded the events of your previous punishments. Americans do not deserve our mercy."_

The agents turned shocked eyes toward the Director.

"This communication was received when Mazar-e Sharif Herat stepped onto the tarmac at LAX, from one of the hangars, removed a small caliber handgun from his coat pocket and shot himself in the head. Until this letter was found affixed to the front of his mechanic's jumpsuit, he had no known terrorist cell connections. He was, in fact, an employee of several years."

"How did he get a gun into the hangar?"

"Maybe the letter is a fake."

Merrick again held up his hand to stop the agents' speculation. "The gun is homemade, apparently brought into the hangar in pieces over the last several days, and assembled by Herat this morning. At the precise moment that he killed himself, intel in Washington received the following:" Merrick forwarded the projector to a new slide.

"_Mazar-e Sharif Herat, a martyr among infidels. Long live the martyr." _

Everyone recognized the source, and there were several minutes of silence in the room.

"We were actually hit by terrorists," someone whispered. "This wasn't related to a case at all."

The Director sat heavily in his chair. "Agents from Homeland and the NSA will be here within the hour. Have your people turn over everything they have. Each team leader will debrief with one of their agents." He looked at his watch. "Then, send everybody home for the remainder of the day. I regret that I cannot offer any time beyond that. We're short several agents, as you know, and cases are already starting to backlog. Everybody's back tomorrow morning." He looked into the face of each agent in the room. "There will be mandatory meetings with our medical personnel, for everyone still alive in this building — myself included — conducted over the next several weeks. Dismissed."

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Amita enterted Charlie's hospital room quietly, stepped up behind Larry and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Oh!" his book slid to the floor. "Amita! I seem to have become somewhat distracted. Is it 4 already?"

She smiled. "Just about." Her eyes wandered to Charlie. "He's so still. I've never seen him so still."

Larry frowned, standing. "Quite. I must confess, I feel rather foolish talking to him, but Alan requested that we do."

"I'm…I'm not sure what to say."

"In what regard?"

Amita glanced back at Larry. "Last time we really spoke, a few days ago, I told him that I had met someone at that physics conference I attended last month. We've been e-mailing, and speaking on the telephone…cyber dating. I thought it was only fair to tell Charlie."

Larry pressed his fingers to his lips. "Did this conversation end badly?"

"Well…well no, not really. I mean, we only had one date, Charlie and I, he said he understood…"

"Then I wouldn't dwell on it, dear. You and Charles have been good friends for years. I'm sure one date won't change that."

She smiled. "You're right, of course." She looked back at Charlie, and her smile faded.

"I still don't know what to say."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Megan pushed open the door of Charlie's room.

"Megan! How are you? I heard the news update on my way back to the hospital. I honestly can't believe it, even after what this country went through on 9/11…"

Megan offered Alan a brief hug. "I know. It's…indescribable. Were you able to get home for a few hours today?"

"Yes, Larry and Amita just left. The news announcer said Homeland Security and the NSA have assumed control of the investigation?"

"Yes. Poor Don is still debriefing with their agents. I was sent home a couple of hours ago, along with almost everybody else, but I can't sleep." Megan turned her attention to Charlie. "The MRI?"

Alan lifted an eyebrow. "Nothing unexpected. The doctor believes that Charlie is 'lightening' more often, and hopes he's coming a little closer to the surface each time…it's been 28 hours since he was taken into surgery."

"I know you just got back, but do you think I could talk to him for a few minutes?"

Alan understood Megan's unspoken request for privacy. "Of course. I forgot to bring some coffee up with me, anyway. The machine at the end of the hall is worthless, but what they serve in the cafeteria is pretty decent…would you like me to bring something for you?"

"No, thank you Alan. I'm just going to talk to Charlie for a minute and head home again. Maybe knock myself out with a hammer."

Alan felt his heart ache for the young woman, and he couldn't stop himself from hugging her again, longer and tighter this time. "Take your time. I'll get my coffee."

Megan waited until the door closed behind him, then took a place in the chair next to Charlie's bed. She checked his eyes. No REM, but that was okay. "Hey Charlie. It's Megan." She stood again, brushed at his hair. "Would Don's hair do this if he grew it longer? It's very sexy."

She sat down again. "Did you know your room number is 3317? You know, 'three plus three plus one equals seven'? I probably wouldn't have noticed that, before I met you. You've helped make me aware of more possibilities, I think I'm a better agent for that."

She watched Charlie sleep, saw his eyes moving behind his eyelids. Lightening. She'd better say what she came to say now. She stood up again and lightly touched his face.

"I know it was frightening, Charlie. I was there. I'm a trained agent, and I was scared. More scared than I ever have been, in my life. I'm trained to go after the bad guys, they're not supposed to come into my house, come after me…" She moved her hand down to a shoulder. "G-d, Charlie. I still am scared. The guys, they've all been great — but they weren't there, like you were. I need to talk to you."

She sat down again, trailed her hand over his, careful not to disturb the needles. "Wherever you are, now, that must be frightening too. You're alone there. Maybe…" her eyes wandered the room, "maybe if you come back, at least that part will be better. We're all waiting for you. Your Dad, Don, all of us." Megan's voice wavered a little. "And I really could use some help, here, Charlie."

His eyes weren't moving anymore, and Megan stopped talking, relaxed into the chair, her hand still on his.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

"She said she couldn't sleep, wanted to talk to your brother. I went for coffee. When I came back up, that's how I found her. It's been almost half an hour. Do you think we should wake her up?"

Don swayed a little in his exhaustion. "I think we should wake them both up."

"Son, please, you've got to get some rest. You said you have to be back at the office in the morning."

Don ignored his father and walked over to the chair, knelt beside it. "Megan? Agent Reeves!"

She started. "Whipped butter."

Don laughed. "What?"

Megan's eyes focused, opened wider. "Sorry. Guess I fell asleep. I was dreaming."

"Agent, do me a favor and don't tell me what about, all right?" Don used the arm of the chair to push himself up, extended a hand to Megan. "My father is kicking us both out for the night. You okay to drive home?"

"At least as okay as you are, Agent Eppes."

"That's it. I'm driving you both home."

"Dad, you can't leave Charlie. We'll be all right."

Alan contemplated his youngest son, then his oldest. "I can have you both home and be back in an hour. If he wakes up while I'm gone…he's welcome to hate me forever. I'll be happy enough to stand it."

Don's lack of argument convinced Alan as much as anything else that he was making the right decision. If his son was too tired to argue, he was too tired to drive.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

_The gun came out of nowhere, and was commandeered by no-one. It just floated, of its own accord, following his brother._

_He could see the dark curls, recognized the hands running through them, leaving chalk dust. He could just barely hear music in the background, but not well enough to make it out. What kind of mood was Charlie in today? Hard rock? Classical? Love songs? Music to load the gun by?_

_Someone was in that kind of mood, because someone had loaded one and then set it loose to track his brother. If he could get to the gun, he could rip it out of the atmosphere. If he could get to Charlie, he could hold him back, get him out of the way somehow._

_But he couldn't do any of that, because, looking down, he saw that he had no feet._

_The gun began to fire, over and over, and Don couldn't hear whether or not Charlie was screaming — because he was._


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Alan frowned at the doctor. "Another CT scan? Why?"

"Something may have developed in the last 24 hours, since we did the first one. As I said, every time I check him, he seems to be lightening more."

"But…" Alan wasn't even sure why he was protesting. He was surprised, but relieved, to see Don coming down the hall.

"Son. Did you get some sleep?"

"I must have. I remember dreaming."

"How did you get here? You should have called, I would have brought you back for your car."

"Cab." Don looked from Alan to the doctor. "What now?"

"I was just telling your father that I'd like to do another CT scan this morning."

"Right away?"

"It will be a few minutes before I can order one and have him transported."

Don looked back at Alan. "You've been here all night again." It was a statement, not a question, so Alan didn't answer. "Ground Hog's Day. Get yourself to the cafeteria, I'll stay with Charlie until he goes down."

"I'll walk with you," offered Dr. Kildaire. "I could use some of that high octane coffee myself, this morning."

Alan hesitated, looking at Don. His son didn't look well. Don's face softened when he saw his father's concern. "Please. Dad. I'm okay." Alan finally allowed himself to be steered down the hall, and Don watched him go before he swung open the door and marched to Charlie's bed.

"Hey. Kid. Knock it off."

He actually saw some of that REM stuff they kept talking about. "Buddy. Come on, you're scaring Dad." _You're scaring me._

He ran a hand through his hair. "You haven't got the right to do this. I know wherever you are, there's a blackboard and you're in the middle of P vs. NP. You fing promised, Charlie, and this is really pissing me off. What kind of birthday present is this? Take me to lunch and then you're out to lunch for two-and-a-half days? Get the hell back here."

Don stopped talking and paced to the window, then back again.

"I'm sorry. You know nobody can make me angrier than you can. It's why you were born. Mom told me that once. I can't even remember what you did…but I remember what I did. I slugged you, and she came unglued. She explained to me that a brother keeps a piece of your heart that no one else can touch, not even a parent. She told me to be careful with yours. Well, you be careful with mine, Charlie." This was a long bout of REM. "Do not make me hit you again, Buddy. I'm still bigger than you. I can do it."

Suddenly exhausted again, he sank into the chair. "Nothing is right about this. I need you to help me understand — or at least help me not understand, and be okay anyway."

The door swung open to admit the orderlies with today's gurney, and Don stood again to leave the room and let them do their work.

"How hard did you hit me?

It was hoarse whisper, croaked in a voice disused for too long, but it was enough to freeze Don, enough to make one of the orderlies grab the intercom and yell "He's awake!". Just like in the dream he'd had the night before, though, Don couldn't seem to make his feet work, and he stood five feet away from the bed and just stared, silent. He watched one of the men give Charlie something to drink, taking it away before Charile seemed to be done. His brother closed his eyes again and Don started to worry that this was all just part of the dream, but then the liquid brown pools popped open again, and locked with his.

"Did you hit me in the leg? My leg hurts." Charlie started to struggle a little to sit up, pushing feebly at the orderly closest to him, and Don finally felt himself move. He waited for the man to back off and then took his place at the head of Charlie's bed. His brother was trying to pick at the IV lines in his hand that tied him to the bed, and Don grabbed his hand.

"Hey, stop, you need that."

Charlie's breathing was shallow, speeding up, and he was still struggling, "I have to go. I have to get up."

"Buddy, just concentrate on me for a minute, okay? Try to make your breaths match mine. Take it easy. Look at me."

Charlie stopped his weak struggle, at least momentarily, but the confusion in his eyes tore at Don's heart. "You're okay. You're in the hospital."

"The hospital?" Don watched as recognition slowly dawned in Charlie's eyes, turning quickly to horror. He began to struggle again. "Let me up. Let me up."

"Look, Charlie, you've been here a few days, I think you may have to wait at least a few hours to get up."

The door swung open and Don heard something drop. He turned his head briefly, while still looking mostly at Charlie. His father. So much for the coffee. A nurse came in before the door was shut and almost took a header in the spilled drink. She looked at an orderly, who nodded. "I'll get a mop."

Alan rushed to the other side of the bed. "Oh, my G-d. Charlie. Charlie." He leaned over to kiss his son's forehead, ran a hand through his hair.

Charlie pulled back. "He won't let me up."

Alan glanced at Don. "It's all right, son. You just need to let some people check you out, first."

His son renewed his struggle, voice growing harder to understand. "Gotta find Megan." He looked at Don. "She's…She's"

"She's fine, Buddy, she's good. She was here to see you."

Now Charlie really looked confused, and he was trying to kick off the blankets so he could get up.

This time Alan grabbed both of his hands. "Charlie. Look at me." As soon as he had his son's attention, he tried to speak in his authoritative father voice. "You stop that, this instant." Charlie settled a little. "That's better. Let this lovely lady do her job, and then we'll talk about getting up." Charlie sighed, closed his eyes, and Alan was afraid to lose him again. "Besides," he added frantically, and Charlie looked up at him once more. "You might want to let them remove the catheter first. I'm just thinking. It could hurt to jump out of bed right now…and I still don't have grandchildren."

The ghost of a smile crossed Charlie's face, and Alan let go of his hands, straightened. Dr. Kildaire opened the door, stepped over the mop. He stopped at the end of the bed. "Well. I don't believe we're been properly introduced."

Alan continued to brush his hand through Charlie's hair, almost absently. "Son, this is Dr. Kildaire." He felt movement under his hand and looked down. Charlie was looking like he was at the bottom of a rabbit hole. "Honestly. That's his name. He's been taking care of you the last few days."

"How long?"

The doctor answered. "You had surgery late Wednesday afternoon. It's…" he looked at his watch. "Almost 10 a.m., Friday morning. You've been taking your time."

"Surgery?"

The doctor moved a step. "I'll explain all that, if the nurse and I can just have you to ourselves for a few minutes?"

Charlie looked first to his father, and then Don. "I want to see Megan."

Don nodded. "She wants to see you, too. Let's wait and see what the doctor says about visitors, okay?"

Charlie squeezed his eyes shut and shifted in the bed, unhappy.

"I'll see her soon. I'm on the way to the office…" Don looked apologetically at his father. "I have to go in, for a while. I can give her a message."

Charlie opened his eyes again. Don was always surprised by the expressiveness of those eyes, how easily they showed hurt, confusion, anger. Charlie couldn't hide anything, and now, he was sad, and staring at the ceiling. "I'm worried, that she's frightened. I know, it's Megan she's never frightened…but please…" he lowered his eyes to Don's. "Tell her not to be afraid?"

Don felt an uncomfortable tightening of his throat, and he nodded, spoke as briefly as he could. "I will."

Alan leaned and kissed Charlie's forehead again. "I'll be right out in the hall. Donnie will be back as soon as he can. Save some questions for later. These are busy people."

Charlie nodded, closed his eyes again, seemed to sink into the pillows a little. Don was having a hard time pulling himself away, even though his father had rounded the bed and was waiting for him. He thought about the immeasurable insanity of the last three days, about how this world would forever be uncertain, about what could have happened, what had happened. Instead of turning to leave, he walked closer to the bed. He leaned over and spoke softly into Charlie's ear. "I've got you, Buddy. You don't need to be afraid anymore, either. Remember, I have a piece of your heart that no one else can touch. I'll be careful with it, because Mom told me to, and because I love you. I'll see you later." As he stood to leave, he saw that Charlie's eyes were still closed, but again there was the ghost of a smile on his face.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Megan could tell from the smile on his face, the crinkle around his eyes. "Charlie's awake!"

He gave her a quick hug. Unprofessional in the office, but this office could use some unprofessionalism this week. "Just now." Colby and David joined them. Don smiled at them, but turned his attention back to Megan. "He's still having all kinds of tests, but he wants to see you. Pretty much insisting on it. I couldn't get him to calm down until I promised to give you a message."

"What?"

"Well," Don stopped smiling. "He was still a little loopy…maybe he had some kind of dream while he was out…"

"What did he say, Don?"

"He said to tell you not to be frightened."

Don was startled to see sudden tears spring to Megan's eyes. Did he miss something, here?

"I thought you were dating Larry."

She slapped at his arm, but it was too late, Colby's eyes were already wide. "You're dating Larry?"

Megan brushed at her eyes with the back of a hand. "Stop it. We've had one date. It was nice."

"So what's going on between you and my brother?"

"Foxhole," Colby answered for her. "Comrades under fire together. Happens all the time in the military. People who experience something like that together…it creates a bond."

Don nodded, suddenly understanding. "Right, I can see that. I can see that it would be important for him to see you, now."

She cleared her throat. "Would it be all right if I stopped by after work?"

Don grinned. "If you don't, he'll probably take a cab to your place."

"Great news about Charlie," put in David. "You should be able to get some more time for him and your Dad, now. Other agents are starting to arrive from our sister offices. That should help us all out."

"So let's get to work. The faster we get them acclimated to this office, the faster we can all get out of it."

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Alan knew Charlie was exhausted, but he was afraid to let him sleep. They told him it would be all right, but he was worried. What if Charlie didn't wake up, again?

His son had already been out of bed once, but only long enough to get to and from the bathroom, with the help of a nurse and a walker. Now he was sitting up in the bed, pushing distractedly at a dish of gelatin, and Alan was pacing between the window and the bed. He knew small talk, observances about the weather, was inappropriate right now, and he certainly didn't want to turn on the television. Ever.

"Dad." Charlie's voice was still weak. "You're making me dizzy."

"Sorry." Alan sat in the chair beside the bed. "You should eat that, not just play with it."

Charlie took a bite, grimaced as it slid down his throat. "Does this really have any nutritional value?"

'Of course it does. It must. A hospital gave it to you."

Charlie put down the spoon, shifted in the bed. He winced a little as he moved his leg. "I'm tired."

Alan's eyes softened. "I know. I can see that. Maybe you should sleep…"

Charlie leaned his head back on the pillow, but looked at his father. "They said it's okay. I'll wake up, again."

"I know what they said. But they still don't know why you were out for so long, and I guess I just don't entirely believe them."

Charlie blinked. "Okay. I'll stay awake for a while."

Alan smiled, and the two regarded each other in silence for a moment.

Charlie shifted again. "Dad?"

"Hmmm?"

"Do…do you think it would be all right, for me not to see anyone, today?"

Alan raised an eyebrow.

"Besides you, I mean, and Don, if he can come back." Charlie thought. "And Megan. If she wants."

"Not Larry or Amita?"

Charlie's eyes slid closed. "Their feelings will be hurt…but Larry requires so much energy, sometimes…"

Alan smiled. "Indeed." He waited, finally asked. "And Amita?"

"I wish I could lay on my side. My back hurts."

"Would it help if I lowered the head of the bed?"

Charlie shrugged, noncommittal. "She's dating someone else."

Alan brought a hand to his lips. "I see."

Charlie opened his eyes again. "I mean, that's okay, we'll be okay…it's just a little…awkward…right now."

"And awkward requires energy."

Charlie sighed. "Right."

He did look tired. And they wanted him to walk this afternoon, or at least sit in the chair. "It's all right, Charlie, I'm sure everyone will understand. I'll just ask them to wait, maybe until we have you home in a few days." He looked at the floor, steeled his courage. "I suppose you should get some rest."

Charlie's eyes slid shut again, and he smiled. "I promise, I'll wake up, Dad. Just for a little while, okay?"

"Of course, son. I'll just step out for a few minutes and make some calls. It's all right if I tell people you're awake, isn't it? I'll say that visiting has to be kept to family, right now."

Charlie nodded, slurred "'kay…", and Alan waited until his breathing was deep, and even, before he left.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Several hours later, Don walked slowly next to his brother, down the hospital corridor. Their goal had been a small waiting area just 20 feet away, a few chairs grouped facing the elevator. Charlie was navigating a walker, but listing more heavily to one side with each step.

"Are you sure this isn't too far? Maybe we should go back. Geez, Charlie, you just woke up."

Charlie's progress halted, and he eyed the original goal, then looked behind him for the location of his hospital room. The chairs were closer. He took another step. "I did this once today, already," he gritted out, and took two more steps before Don heard a tiny, "sort-of."

"What the hell does that mean?" Don offered a sheepish smile to a passing hospital technician, and lowered his voice. "Charlie."

His brother stopped again, leaned all his weight on his good side, momentarily sagging against Don, who reached out quickly to steady him.

"It's all right." Charlie was panting. "I may have been in a wheelchair part of the time."

Don swore under his breath. "I can do this," Charlie assured him, and carefully started walking again.

Only a few more steps. Then he could help Charlie sit down, and go back to his room for the wheelchair. Idiot. He should have brought it with them. "So. Dad said you took a few naps, today."

"He kept accidentally dropping things." Charlie grunted a little when he put too much weight on his bad leg. "Tripping. Making…" Charlie stopped again. "Making loud noises."

Don grinned. "Can't say as I blame him. It's a good thing he asked everybody to wait until you got home to visit, or you'd have at least five more people dropping books every time you closed your eyes."

Charlie smiled, a little grimly, Don thought, and started off again. One shuffle. Two shuffle. Thank God. Three shuffle.

"Okay, we're here. Let me help you sit down. Rest for a while, and then I'll go get the wheelchair. You are so not walking back."

Charlie accepted Don's help and lowered carefully into a chair. As his leg hit the solid surface, he drew in a sharp breath, slowly exhaled, and closed his eyes. "Maybe you're right," he said quietly, and Don sat down beside his brother.

"No wonder Dad looked exhausted."

Charlie opened his eyes, tried to smile at his brother. "I could go to sleep again."

Don shuddered involuntarily. "Hey. Don't even joke about that."

They heard the ding of the elevator. Don looked toward it automatically, and saw Megan when the doors opened. He felt Charlie's head come up a little beside him. The doors almost closed again before she thought to step out, and Don stood so that she could take his chair. He was going to speak to her, but Megan wasn't looking at him. He looked down, and saw that Charlie was staring back at her.

"Are you all right?" they both asked at the same time, and he smiled.

"Charlie's doing too much, already," he said. "I'm going back to his room for a wheelchair. I'll see you guys in a minute." He winked at Megan, who was finally looking at him, and walked back the way he had come.

Megan sank down in the chair next to Charlie. "I've been worried," she said, and he nodded.

"Me, too."

An unbidden tear rolled down her cheek, and she brushed it impatiently away. She smiled. "It's good to see your eyes open."

"I wish they weren't open so far," he murmured, and she could no longer stop herself. She gathered him carefully to her in an embrace, tightened her hold when she felt him relax against her.

"It will be all right," she whispered. "We'll be okay. Somehow."

Charlie took a shaky breath, drew back far enough to look at her. "I don't remember…much. Don said you did a good job."

She sighed a little. "I'm with you, Charlie. I wish I'd never had to do it. I wish I hadn't seen…what I saw. I wish I'd never taken out that shooter."

Charlie pulled back a little further, his eyes wide. "You got one of them?"

She nodded, another tear sneaking past her reserve. This time, Charlie reached out to brush it away. She smiled, took his hand, resettled in the chair.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

He watched the news for two minutes, until his dinner threatened to make a reappearance,

straightened up Charlie's bed and replaced the water in the pitcher with something colder and fresher — he hoped — from the bathroom. He sat down and twiddled his thumbs, answered Charlie's phone and gave an update to Larry. When he figured they'd had enough time, Don slowly pushed the wheelchair toward the waiting area.

He stood in front of them, propped an elbow on his opposite arm, crossed in front of him, rubbed his eyes for a moment. Charlie and Megan sat side-by-side, slumped into each other, both sleeping, their heads touching. Even in sleep, she had a death grip on his hand.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

When Don stopped at the hospital the next afternoon, Charlie was in a chair next to the bed, ignoring a tray of food in front of him. Alan sat in another chair, closer to the window, using the light to help him pretend to read a book. He glanced up at Don when the door opened, smiled nervously. Don walked over to the bed and sat down on the end.

"Hey, Charlie."

Charlie moved his focus from the tray in front of him, seemed to see Don for the first time. He eyed the black suit suspiciously. "Isn't it Saturday?"

He probably should have changed, but there really wasn't enough time to change back again. Keep it brief. "Yes."

Charlie was staring at the knot in his tie. "Megan said the team is off, today."

"We are." Don exchanged a glance with his father, and Charlie saw it. His brother lowered his gaze, pushed away the rolling table. There was an interminable silence.

"You've been to a…a…service. For one of the agents."

"Yes. I would have changed, but I wanted to see you, and I have another one this afternoon."

Charlie wouldn't look at him.

"I'm sorry. Maybe I should have just waited, come later."

"Can you get rid of this food?" Charlie was looking a little green, and Don quickly rolled the table over near the door, then resumed his position on the end of the bed.

"Do you want some ginger ale? Mom always gave us ginger ale, when…"

Charlie's head shot up. "When what? When we were shot? When some terrorist somewhere decided none of us are worth anything?"

Alan stood. "Charlie…" His voice was gentle.

Charlie lifted a hand to rub his eyes, and Don saw that it was shaking. "I'm sorry. I have a headache." He looked at Don, then, really looked at him. "This must be very difficult for you. I wish…"

Don held his gaze. "I know, Buddy. We all wish. Yeah, this is hard. This is a hard day. Charlie…you have to know that going to your service would be worse." Don couldn't seem to stop talking. "This half hour is all I have, today, this half hour is saving me. Sandwiched between these two horrific events, I can come here. See you. Talk to you. Maybe it was selfish…all right, I know it's selfish…but can you give it to me anyway?"

Charlie looked away. His hand fell to his lap, and Don could see that it was still shaking. "I want to," he finally said, quietly. "Really. I'm glad that you thought of coming here." He laid his head back on the chair. "Maybe…maybe you and Dad could spend some time together." He raised his head again to look apologetically at Don. "I'm sorry. I've been up a long time. I'm sorry."

Alan had walked around the bed by then, and he placed a hand on Charlie's forehead. "Yes," he agreed, "you have been up a long time."

Don stood. He really didn't like the way his brother was looking. "Don't apologize, Charlie, I shouldn't have come and upset you. I'll go get the nurse, so you can get back in bed for a while."

"Don, wait…" Charlie reached out a hand toward him, and Don grabbed it, surprised at the strength of the grasp despite its shaking. "Will you come back? After? I promise to be…better. Different." His hand dropped and his head fell back against the chair again. "I'm tired."

Don knelt in front of him, and let his father leave the room to search for the nurse. He tried to speak soothingly. "It's okay, Charlie. I'll come back, don't worry. You haven't done anything wrong." He was terrified to see a tear slip down Charlie's cheek.

"I feel like I have," his brother mumbled.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

He stood next to Megan at the next service, one for an agent he had not known well, but well enough for greetings in the corridors, when they met. Fallen in the line of duty, he was given a 21-gun salute at the end of the service, the flag from his coffin was folded and handed to his widow. People began to drift slowly toward their cars.

"Did you know him well?" Megan finally ventured.

"No. I think I did something stupid."

"What?"

"After McCaffery's service, I stopped by the hospital to see Charlie. He could tell, from my suit, and my…demeanor, I guess…he got pretty upset."

Megan frowned. "What did he say?"

"He got…momentarily angry, but then he just kind of deflated into some guilt thing, or depression, or something." Don sighed. "He said he was tired, and had a headache, even my Dad said he'd been up in a chair for a long time…maybe it really was physical. I don't know."

"It was probably both. A little over 24 hours ago, Charlie was still unconscious. I'm sure he is still pretty vulnerable, physically."

"I shouldn't have gone."

Megan stopped. "No. Don't do that, Don. Charlie can't hide from this…from the consequences we all have to pay. If I thought hiding would work, do you think I'd be here now?"

Don looked at her. "I guess not."

"Let him be momentarily angry, or sad, or whatever he's feeling. As long as it's not guilt. Reassure him that none of this is his fault."

Don nodded. "I tried. I'll keep trying." They started walking again. "Are you planning to come and see him tonight?"

"He sounds exhausted." She laughed a little, a hard laugh. "I know I am. I'll call, later. I'll come if he wants me to, but it sounds like he needs rest."

"Yeah." Don waited while Megan got into her car. "Don't we all."

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Alan was in the waiting area when Don got off the elevator.

"Dad, have you been here all day?"

"I'm going home, your brother is sleeping…still freaks me out a little, to watch that. Anyway, I wanted to see you, first."

"Why? Is something else wrong with Charlie?"

"He does have a slight fever, but he's all right. He just got too tired. I want to know how you are."

"I'm okay. I'm sorry I came by earlier, that couldn't have helped Charlie…"

"Son, Donnie…did it help you? I don't want you to get lost in all this. You've suffered tremendous losses, tremendous pain…I just wanted to look you in the eye again today, be sure you understand that I love you. I know that can't help much right now…"

Alan's words became muffled as Don all-but-crushed him in an embrace. "Of course it helps," he said, and squeezed his father tighter. "I love you, too."


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

Don frowned. "Absolutely not,"

Charlie may have been sleeping when their father left, but by the time Don got there, he was leaning on a pair of crutches, staring out the window. Don had convinced him to at least sit down, and had dragged a chair over for himself.

"Absolutely not," he repeated.

Charlie looked at him. "Don. You know as soon as people hear I'm at home, they're coming anyway. And these are the same people who were coming for your birthday. It makes a certain sense."

"How can people hear you're at home, when you're not?"

"Semantics. He promised to release me before noon tomorrow."

"Two things. Who promised? And Dad said you had a fever."

Charlie sighed. "That doctor. I can't make myself say his name. Who gets named after a television show? And I _had_ a fever, this afternoon, when you were here. I've been normal for hours."

"That's debateable. And it's not what Dad just told me."

Charlie sighed again. "Virtually normal. Normal enough to go home. I just have to come back, if it spikes. Which it won't."

Don was rather enjoying this. "Which it _will_, if you don't take care of yourself. Relax, eat, sleep, all the things you find a challenge in your everyday life." He waited for Charlie to at least grin, got nothing.

"Stop changing the subject," Charlie finally said. "We're not talking a formal reception. Dad thought he'd just order pizza, and have cake and ice cream available, run the whole thing like a combination 'buffet/open house'."

Don lifted an eyebrow. "Dad thinks this is a good idea?"

Charlie nodded.

Don cast around his mind for something else, grabbed a straw. "So, 'no formal reception'. Is that your way of saying 'let's just get this over with'?"

Charlie looked stricken, and Don immediately regretted his words. "I'm just kidding," he said hurriedly, "I just don't want you to push yourself."

Charlie was looking out the window, again. "We…we only thought, people would show up anyway…you're right. It's insulting. You should have your own night. I'm sorry."

Don leaned forward in his chair, physically turned Charlie's head so that he was looking at him. "Hey," he said softly. "Don't do that. I don't care about some stupid birthday. If you and Dad think you'll be up for this…"

"It was actually his idea. He thinks if he calls and invites people over tomorrow night, there won't be a crowd in the afternoon, and he can make me sleep when I get home from the hospital."

Don leaned back. "I knew there was an ulterior motive, on his part."

Charlie suddenly grinned. "He doesn't know about the lap top in my room. I just got it last week, so I can stop dragging one back-and-forth to the office. I still need to do some configurations…"

Don relaxed a little. He could put up with it, he'd be there anyway. But, geez. Cake and ice cream.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Charlie was right. Even though he still had a low-grade fever, Dr. Kildaire released him, with a fistful of antibiotics and warnings. Still, it was just after noon before they got him settled on the couch, a destination Don insisted on until he could sneak upstairs and hide the new lap top. "Just sit down here for lunch," he bartered. "Then I'll help you up."

Charlie did look uncomfortable, so Don helped his Dad in the kitchen, heating the soup Alan had probably been up all night making. Alan, ever the optimist, threw together a sandwich as well. "Is this enough for you? Or should I make something else later?"

Don smiled into the soup. "This is plenty. You're only making Charlie half, right? I don't want to end up eating his, too."

Alan leaned to retrieve the tray from the cupboard, and saw the cake tin. He straightened.

"Don, could you stay here for just a while this afternoon, while I go to the market?"

Don looked at him, surprised. "Well…yeah. I was planning on staying all day. After I help Charlie upstairs, I'll take the couch. I could deal with a nap, myself. Or watch the game…if that's okay?"

Alan smiled. "Of course it is, I just wanted to make sure. And you can't come in the kitchen, so take a 6-pack out there with you."

Don was insulted. "I will not drink an entire 6-pack during the game. Anyway, I thought you were just ordering pizza?"

"I am. And you will drink an entire 6-pack during the game, especially if you're not driving — you'll stay here, tonight?"

Don laughed. "First you're not sure if I'll stay the afternoon, then you're assuming I'll stay the night…don't worry, Dad. If you see the entire 6-pack disappear, take my keys."

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Charlie managed most of the bowl of soup. Don wrapped the half-sandwich and carried it up with him while he shadowed his brother up the stairs. Charlie's eyes were half closed, but he insisted on hopping up by himself. Halfway up, he stopped. "All right," he panted, head hanging. "Maybe the first time, you should help."

Don smiled and shook his head. "Indomnitable spirit". Ever since the first time he had encountered that term — probably somewhere in a book he had to read for school — it made him think of Charlie. He moved up a step, took his brother's crutches and grasped him around the waist. He felt a grim satisfaction. They had wounded him, truly "terrorized" him, scarred him. But those bastards would not crush Charlie's spirit.

He helped Charlie the rest of the way up the stairs, into his room. As Charlie carefully lowered to the bed, his eyes wandered, first to the desk, then around the bed and the stacks of books on the floor, each of which made perfect sense to him. Finally, he looked up at Don, confusion and suspicion mixed in those expressive brown eyes. "I don't see my new lap top. Did you move it?"

Don grinned. "Go ahead. Tell Dad. I dare you."

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

He had to admit, it was relaxing.

Maybe it was the six beers he had before everybody got here.

Maybe it was the slightly-less strained look Charlie had, the slightly-more-believeable smiles.

Maybe it was spending time with his team in a high glucose atmosphere. Bonding. Healing. Whatever-ing.

Maybe it was the look in his father's eye, the twinkle that said, "I've got a secret".

Maybe it was watching Megan's face brighten while Larry talked to her about something astronomical. (What was he promising her was astronomical?)

Maybe it was Colby's face, falling when Alan teased him that he'd gotten vegetarian pizza just for him.

Maybe it was seeing David with his wife, comfortable and happy, making it look possible to have both a life and a career with the FBI.

Maybe it was the lack of the awkwardness he had noticed for a while between Charlie and Amita. Not as close as his father had been hoping for, but at least not afraid of each other, anymore.

Maybe it was all of that.

He had to admit, it was relaxing.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Later, after Larry finally left, the three Eppes men sat at the kitchen table, Charlie perching awkwardly on the edge of his chair.

Don looked at him with concern. "What is it, Dad? Can't we do this in the living room, so Charlie can sit on the couch or something?"

Alan had his back to him, working over something on the counter. "This won't take long. Charlie and I just want to give you our presents."

"Guys, that's ridiculous," he protested. "I have everything I want, really."

"Well, we didn't tell each other what we were doing, so I'm curious, even it you're not." Alan turned, then, placed the baseball mitt cake in front of Don. His second attempt at decorating had gone a little better. "Look what I found."

Tears sprung to Don's eyes, and with effort, he pushed them back. "G-d. Dad." He looked up. "My cake. I didn't know you still had that."

"I found it, a few months ago," Alan smiled, a little hesitantly. "Is it all right? That I made it, and not your mother?"

"Come on, Dad." Don was smiling. "I know you both made it." He looked at the cake again. "Chocolate inside?"

"Of course. Your favorite."

Don looked at Charlie, who was staring at the cake with a strange look on his face. Maybe his Dad should have warned him, first… "You okay, Buddy?"

"What?" Charlie shook himself, looked up at Don. "Yes, yes. That's…" He looked back at the cake again, then to his father. "That's incredible. I can actually tell what it's supposed to be,"

Alan raised an eyebrow. "So what's your big surprise?"

"I didn't have time to wrap it," Charlie began, and Don snorted.

"You never wrap them."

Charlie leveled him with a look. "Can you hand me my backpack?"

Don started to push himself up, but Alan held up a hand. "I've got it." He walked to the corner near the door, retrieved the pack and sat it beside Charlie's chair.

"Table, please. I'm afraid I'll fall off the chair if I lean over."

Alan moved the pack. "Of course. Sorry." He stood between his two sons as Charlie reached into the back and withdrew a book, handing it to Don.

"You got me a book? Dad, don't we have some sort of family rule about giving me books?" Don looked up at his father, who was standing in his "this is too much for me" pose, hand pressed to his mouth. With his other hand, he indicated the book, and Don looked back at it.

_Patterns of Cognitive Emergence:_

_Interactions, Computations and Experiences_

_By Dr. Charles Eppes_

Don's eyes widened. "You wrote another book? When?"

Charlie smiled. "Whenever. Look, that's not the present. Open it."

Don opened the cover, turned a few pages. Then, he saw it. A dedication page.

_For Don, who has proven himself a good student, a fine teacher, and an excellent brother_

He couldn't stop looking at it.

"It's only a textbook, I know you'd probably prefer a novel…"

"I'm not a teacher."

Charlie sounded surprised. "Of course you are. You teach me things all the time. You're a team leader, other agents learn from you. You're the best kind of teacher — you don't even realize you are one."

"It's not done." Don pushed the book back at Charlie. "Autograph it."

Charlie laughed, but Alan moved to the counter and found a pen, brought it back to Charlie. "You heard him."

Charlie scribbled his name below the dedication, handed the book back to Don. "Are you going to read it?"

Don hesitated. "The whole book?"

Charlie laughed again, and Don knew he could never hear that sound enough.

"Take your time. I'll help you with the big words."

Alan tried to take the book, but Don wasn't letting go. "Get your own," he growled, and smiling, Charlie reached into his pack and brought another one out for his father. He watched them both. Alan was actually reading, Don, just smelling the fresh ink. He shifted on the chair. "Um…" No-one looked at him, and he eyed his crutches, which Don had put near the dining room, out of the way. He tried to push himself up and see if he could walk that far, quickly decided against it. "Guys…" Alan was sitting at the table now, still reading. He dragged the cake his way, and Don's hand shot out to grab his arm.

"Stop that. I'm taking that home."

Charlie sighed. "I think I'm toast," he said. "I need a little help?"

Don started. "Oh! Right, sorry…" He stood to retrieve the crutches, and he and Charlie made the slow trek upstairs. They stopped at the bathroom, and Don leaned against the wall outside to wait.

He was on page 7.


	13. Chapter 13

**EPILOGUE**

Charlie leaned heavily on his cane, clutching the files. He replaced his cell phone in his coat pocket and watched the glass doors until they opened to reveal Megan.

"Charlie!" She smiled. "Wow. A cane and everything. Very professor-like."

He waited for her to come closer. "I'm sorry. I thought it would be all right. I thought I could do this."

"It's okay." She looked at him, concerned. "Do you want to walk?" She looked again at his cane. "At least as far as that bench over there?"

He nodded and they crossed the short distance. He sat stiffly, handed her the files. "I don't even know if you need these, anymore. They've been in my office a few weeks. I found them when I went back to work, today. I thought I'd just bring them back on my way home."

She opened the files, studied them for a moment. "I'll pull the case, stick this with all the other paperwork. We probably could have lived without them, but thanks for bringing them back."

He looked again at the building. "Does Don know I'm here?"

She shook her head. "No, he wasn't even in the office when you called. Somewhere else in the building." They sat in silence. "It looks different," she finally said.

He took a deep breath. "I don't know how you could go back in there."

"It's my house," she said, simply. "They don't get to kick me out of my own house." She glanced at him. "I'm not saying that you should do something you're not ready for."

More silence. "Did Merrick ask you to see the department's medical staff? We all had to, but I don't think he can make a consultant do anything."

"It was a strong recommendation. From Merrick. And Don. Dad. Larry. Dr. Kildaire." He looked at her. "At least I can say his name, now."

She smiled. "And?"

"And what?" He was purposefully pretending not to know what she was asking.

"And, have you seen someone?"

He shrugged. "I had an appointment. I sat there for 55 minutes, paid my bill, left."

"I guess you're not ready to talk about this yet."

"Maybe not."

"When you want, I don't mean today, but when you want, I'll go in with you. Just say when."

He turned to her, looked a little startled. "Your eyes," he said.

"What about them?"

"They seem a darker green, today."

"Actually, they're hazel. Change according to my clothes, like a chameleon…are you okay?"

He looked away from her, and she heard a small sigh. "First day back. I'm tired."

She nodded. "I'm sure. Thanks again for bringing the files. Do you want me to walk to your car with you?"

He shook his head, and they both stood.

"Call me anytime, Charlie, I mean that."

He smiled, although it didn't quite reach his eyes. "I know. Thank you. Really. I'll let you get back to work…"

She reached over the cane to give him a quick hug. "Take care, Charlie. Get some rest." She turned and returned the way she'd come. He watched the building swallow her, looked at the sidewalk for a moment, finally turned and started for his car.

On the fourth floor, Don stood at the window in one of the conference rooms, and watched his brother limp away.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

**FINIS**

A/N: Come on, quit growling. You know I have to leave myself room for a sequel… 


End file.
